Bad Blood' Ch 6 CoG an 'imagined' Jace's POV
by DominiqueMorgenstern
Summary: Clary turns up unexpectedly in Idris, and Jace tries to force her to leave.


_Come on, _Jace thought, as he realised with a dull deflation that his efforts were failing. Badly.

The kissing, that was.

He was not losing himself. The desire was there; but nebulous, weak. He was not distracted. Not enough. He could feel his unoccupied mind beginning to rebel, sliding down into dark pits of his thoughts that there was no escaping from—

He tried to remember what he'd done with girls in the past — how he'd got them moaning into his mouth, wriggling excitedly against him, their breathing heavy. Aline definitely was not doing that.

_She can probably tell, _he thought self-critically.

He also knew that the fact he was standing there, evaluating his kissing techniques mid-make-out was not conducive to any kind of passion.

_What is _wrong _with you? _He thought.

Something in the back of his mind seemed to whisper, _you_ know_ what's wrong._

Jace forced himself to move faster. He _would _force himself to feel it. He moved his hand to Aline's shoulder, then roughly over her breasts, feeling the buttons of her shirt pop open as he pulled the fabric apart.

This time, Aline responded, putting her arms around his neck, clasping the back of his head, deepening their kiss. _Ah, _he thought, relieved.

He felt his movements start to flow more naturally then — his hand squeezing her shoulder, nudging her bra strap down her arm, pressing the side of her face, caressing her waist.

Jace could feel Aline moving closer to him, pushing her hips into his, but always tentatively. Her hands, as they crossed his abdomen, were steady, calm.

He ignored that, kissing her with more and more fervour as he felt the clarity of his thoughts begin to cloud over. _This _was what he wanted, even though everything about her was wrong.

_Everything about her was wrong._

Then he realised.

His frantic hands, his hungry mouth, the length of his body pressing up against her; was desperately looking, searching, _feeling_ for something, for someone, that was not there.

He'd been imagining _her._

_Her _lips. _Her _face. _Her _neck. _Her _body—just out of reach.

His _sister_.

Pangs of nauseous self-loathing rippled through him.

A loud crash, followed by a thump, to his left ripped him and Aline apart. He was glad of it until his eyes found the cause of the disturbance.

Suddenly, he was looking straight at the person who'd haunted his nightmares, deviled his fantasies, consumed his every thought, for months. Every breath he'd expelled since he'd met her seemed to whisper her name. _Clary._

He couldn't breathe. As if the oxygen in the room had abruptly evaporated, and a tremendous weight fell onto his ribcage, crushing the stuttered beats of his heart.

Paralysed with horror, Jace immediately concluded he was in a dream. He was hallucinating; this couldn't possibly be real.

_Clary is in New York. Clary is in New York. You weren't kissing her. Clary…is not here. _

_Clary. Clary. Clary._

_Clary._

Clary's emerald eyes, which he had just been envisaging beneath him, remembering how they had been lit with desire in those other stolen moments with their lips pressed against each others— were now glowing with incredulity and…betrayal.

_S_he'd seen them kissing.

Guilt. That was what he felt before he wrestled with the feeling, finally smothering it into non-existence. It was ridiculous to feel guilty. Stupid.

Clary looked from Jace, to Aline — her eyes lingering on her disheveled appearance — and then shot back to Jace. He heard Aline demand, "Excuse me? Who are you?"

Jace knew that if Aline knew was acknowledging her presence, she wasn't a figment of his imagination…Clary must really be here. Clary…was actually in Idris. This was real.

Without a conscious decision to do so, Jace began talking. _"_Aline. This is my sister, Clary." His voice seemed muffled and distant. Dead. Meaningless.

"Oh. _Oh._" Aline's tone jumped up with embarrassment. He saw her move towards Clary in his periphery, though he didn't look at her. Jace couldn't unfix his gaze from Clary, whose expression shifted to disgust as she stared at Aline's proffered hand as if it was a toxic kind of white insect with 5 crawling legs.

With a jolt, he suddenly noticed what Clary was wearing. Gear.

He was too distracted by how perfectly it fit her to even briefly consider where in the name of the Angel she had got _Gear_ from. The jet black colour was striking against the fiery crimson of her hair; the leather material accentuated the pallor of her skin, highlighted the curves of her chest and hips, and the extraordinary length of her legs for a girl so short.

She looked fierce, and strong; inflamed with all the righteous fury of heaven. _Like a Shadowhunter._

He felt a twisted a kind of pride surge through him, alongside reignited embers of yearning, curling up in an angry heat against the pit of his stomach.

Needing to _do _something, anything, to stop him from lingering on it, Jace approached Aline — though still without taking his eyes of Clary — and placed his hands on Aline's shoulders, whispering into her ear,_"_Could you give us a moment? I need to tell my sister something important."

He didn't even see Aline's reaction — just her walking towards the door. He was grateful to see the back of her.

It was with a sickening kind of rapture and despair that he thought, _now we're alone. Just Clary…and I. Alone._

Clary took a step towards him. "Jace," she said.

Instantly, his body tensed up like an iron rod, and he took a corresponding step back. Keeping his distance was imperative: he felt as if he was teetering on the very edge of full-blown violence, though he had no idea why.

It was only when he said slowly, "What in the name of the Angel, Clary, are you doing here?" and marked the distant surprise at his scathing tone, that he identified the anger — no, _rage — _making him feel like this.

"You could at least pretend you were glad to see me. Even a little bit," She said defensively, her lovely green eyes stricken.

_I am glad. Isn't it obvious? _He thought, almost wanting to shout it at her, _and I hate myself for it. _But instead, he turned the sentiment on itself, throwing it back at her. "I'm not glad to see you. Not even a little bit."

The little flinch that passed across her face was like he'd just jabbed the point of a seraph blade into skin. But the visible hurt was quickly followed by annoyance. "This isn't you. I hate it when you act like this—"

But he couldn't stop himself. The words tumbled out from him, rash, unreasoned, panicked. "Oh, you hate it, do you? Well, I'd better stop doing it then, hadn't I? I mean, you do everything _I _ask you do to."

If she was annoyed before, she was infuriated now. She shouted, "You had _no right_ to do what you did! Lying to me like that. You had no right—"

"I had _every right_!" He heard himself yell back viciously, and perversely enjoyed how the volume of his voice powered over her's. But everything about him was like that now, wasn't it? Repulsive. Wrong. Out of control. He let words vomit out of him without restraint. "I had every right, you stupid, stupid girl. I'm your brother and I—"

"And you what? You _own_ me? You don't own me, whether you're my brother or not!" She objected, rising to his bait.

He wanted to stride over to her, grab her by the arms, shake her, crush her to his chest, anything to make her feel this unquenchable agony. Anything to make her understand._ I'm your brother, Clary, your brother! And I _love _you._ _I_ still _god-damned_ love _you. Can't you see how despicable I am? I can't stop, Clary! I've tried so hard to stop—and it's killing me!_

Before he could respond, he heard the door open, and Alec stepped in. He looked at both them with a bewildered, alarmed expression. He was wearing new clothes, Jace noted dimly. But the sight of his Parabatai's face was nonetheless comforting, and he was relieved that his entrance had stopped him from spewing out every filthy thing he felt inside of him. His presence cooled the searing in his veins. "What in all the possible dimensions is going on here?" Alec said, looking from Jace to Clary, his tone accusatory. "Are you trying to kill each other?"

_Maybe it would be better if we were, _the back of his mind suggested darkly to him. "Not at all," he answered, shocked by the icy composure of his voice. "Clary was just leaving."

He knew he was being rude, but he didn't care. He needed her out of his sight, out of his head.

He also knew, from ample experience, that giving Clary any kind of order was intrinsically counter-productive.

Alec said, in a discreet voice, "Good, because I need to to talk to you, Jace,"

Clary burst out with frustration, "Doesn't anyone in this house ever say, 'Hi, nice to see you', anymore?"

Alec turned to her, "It _is _good to see you, Clary." He continued in a worried tone, "Except, of course, you're really not supposed to be here. Isabelle told me you'd got here on your own somehow, and I'm impressed—"

_What did he mean, 'got here on her own'?! _"Could you _not _encourage her?" Jace asked, momentarily angry with Alec. What did Alec know that he didn't?

"But I really, really, need to talk to Jace about something. Could you give us a few minutes?" Alec asked Clary, ignoring him.

Jace's head was beginning to hurt, pounding in sync with his accelerated heart beat. His brain felt feverish and stuffy and hot, pressing against his skull. He wanted nothing more than to be alone.

Clary said to Alec, "_I _need to speak to him, too. About our mother—"

_Raziel, not this again. _"I don't feel like talking to either of you, as a matter of fact."

"Yes, you do." Alec said to him, his tone emphatic. "You really want to talk to me about this."

"I doubt that," Jace replied. Cogs in Jace's mind whirred, sifting through everything that Clary had told him about how she got here, and he came to a realisation. "You didn't come here alone, did you?" She couldn't possibly have arrived in Idris alone — she'd have had to have had someone with her, someone who knew Idris well, to enter a portal, to navigate her way around. "Who came with you?"

"Luke," She answered sheepishly. "Luke came with me."

_Did she have a death-wish? _"But Luke is a Downworlder. Do you know what the Clave does to unregistered Downworlders who come into the Glass City — who cross the wards without permission? Coming to Idris is one thing, but entering Alicante? Without telling anyone?"

Clary had the decency to look ashamed of herself. Jace's mind reeled —every danger she'd now placed herself — and all of the Lightwoods — in, collided with his boiling anger. She looked down. "No, but I know what you're going to say—"

"That if you and Luke don't go back to New York immediately, you'll find out?"

Jace knew that he'd just threatened her and Luke. He seemed to watch from the outside, seeing the the demon part of himself delight in the idea of forcibly removing Clary somewhere far, far away where she couldn't be hurt, where he would be tortured no further with her presence. _And somewhere I could keep her, just for myself, and_ be _with her_.

Another part of himself, the human part, recoiled in astonishment of the menacing implications of what he'd just said.

The look of mixed-horror and fear in Clary's eyes — _This is what you are now, Jace. That._ _That is what you've made yourself to your dear, precious sister. _A tyrant.

_No,_ he thought._ Valentine. I am Valentine. _

He remembered back to the time on Valentine's boat, the cold night wind whipping through his hair, his father by his side. It felt like years ago. Jace remembered looking at Valentine, seeing so much of himself in him. The wretchedness he'd felt. _"I am, in the end," he had said_, _"what you made me."_

Alec's voice punctured the silence. "Jace. Haven't you wondered where I've been all day?"

Jace didn't look at him; he'd almost forgotten Alec was there until he had spoken. "That's a new coat you're wearing," he replied. "Though why you're so eager to bother me about it, I have no idea."

Alec was irritated now, demanding. "I didn't go shopping. I went—"

The door opened for the second time, revealing Isabelle, wearing in a flowing white dress. She looked around the room, sensing the fraught atmosphere, and then glared pointedly at Clary. "I told you he'd freak out. Didn't I?"

"Ah, the 'I told you so'," Jace said, surprised to hear a little of his characteristic sarcasm return to his tone. "Always a classy move."

"How can you _joke?_" Clary looked at Jace contemptuously. "You just threatened Luke. Luke, who likes you and trusts you. Because he's _Downworlder. _What's wrong with you?" Obscurely, Jace felt a strange urge to laugh, but he did not. She had just repeated his own thoughts, aloud. Perhaps he and Clary were more alike than he'd thought.

Isabelle's face drained of its colour. "Luke's here? Oh, Clary—"

"He's _not _here," Clary interrupted, turning to Isabelle. "He left—this morning—and I don't know where he went. But I can certainly see now why he had to go." A sorrowful expression overcame her face, which she bent to the floor. Jace knew she was addressing him, even though she was not looking at him, as she said in a horribly defeated voice, "Fine. You win. We should never have come. I should never have made that Portal—"

Isabelle spoke for him. _"Made _a Portal? Clary, only a warlock can make a Portal. And there aren't very many of them. The only Portal here in Idris is in the Gard."

Alec hissed at Jace, "Which is what I have to talk to you about."

Jace didn't care what Alec wanted to talk to him about. He still felt feverish, but staggered now, his emotions running wild with tumultuous information hurtling down on him at the same time. He felt like he was going to explode. Alec continued, "About the errand I went on last night—the thing I had to deliver to the Gard—"

"Alec, stop. S_top," _Jace erupted. He heard the pathetic desperation in his voice, and he didn't care. All Jace cared about, all he had ever cared about was the girl who had caused all of this. _Clary. _His eyes found her across the room. She was staring at him with a slightly amazed expression. "You're right," he said. His voice sounded disconnected, as if it belonged to someone else. "You should never have come. I told you it's because it isn't safe for you here, but that wasn't true. The truth is that I don't want you here because you're rash and thoughtless and you'll mess everything up. You're not careful, Clary."

"Mess…everything…up?" Clary repeated, dumbfounded.

Isabelle said something, something low and pitying, but he hardly registered her words. There was nothing that mattered but him and Clary. He did not know where the words came from, or how to stop them. "You always just race ahead without thinking. You know that, Clary. We'd never have ended up in Dumort if it wasn't for you."

"And Simon would be _dead!_" Clary almost-screamed at him. "Doesn't that count for anything? Maybe it was rash, but—"

Jace felt some of his self-possession return to him as his temper soared to breaking-point. "_Maybe?" _

Her face worked, her eyes wide with indignation. He could see her grasping for any defence, any insult, anything to throw back at him. "But it's not like every decision I've made was a bad one! You said, after what I did on the boat, you _said _I'd saved everyone's life—"

And then he was screaming at her. "Shut up, Clary, _shut up—"_

Alec interjected, "On the boat?" Jace glanced over at him. He looked thoroughly astounded, his gaze darting back and forth between him and Clary. "What happened on the boat? Jace—"

He ignored Alec. When Clary had been shouting at him before, he'd realised something; realised why he had spoken to her so caustically, his manner so immoderately cruel — because he _liked _this. Clary shouting at him, reviling him, condemning him. Because he deserved it; this punishment. And because her feeling something, even if it was bitter hatred towards him, was better than her cool indifference, her defiant composure. So he resolved, impulsively, to carry on, see how far he could push her, before she too, snapped.

"I just told you that to keep you from whining!" Jace shouted at her hysterically. "You're a disaster for us, Clary! You're a mundane—you'll always be one; you'll never be a Shadowhunter. You don't know how to think like we do, think about what's best for everyone— all you ever think about is yourself! But there's a war on now, or there will be, and I don't have the time or the inclination to follow around after you, trying to make sure you don't get one of us killed!"

Clary stared at him, stunned into silence. Jace felt as if he had been sprinting full-pelt, and flung himself off the edge of a cliff. The waiting was the falling. Her reaction would be hitting rock bottom.

Still, she said nothing. _Say something. Please. Please. _Nothing. She was looking at him with a peculiar, dazed expression, as if he was a complete stranger and she hadn't the slightest idea who the person was that was standing in front of her.

_There. You've finally done it. _

"Go home, Clary," he said to her, exhaustion swooping over him. "Go home."

Without another word, Clary turned her back on him and walked to the door. He felt like a part of himself drifted, going with her. Leaving him hollow. She turned her head at the last moment. Jace saw himself reflected in his sister's eyes, and suddenly he remembered the shard of glass that he'd kept — the one that had shown him the manor house in Idris, his home, the one that only Clary had managed to keep him from walking back to.

And now Clary was walking away from him.

Now he'd lost everything.

She spoke, finally. "When you told me the first time that Valentine was your father, I didn't believe it. Not just because I didn't want it to be true, but because you weren't anything like him. I've never thought you were anything like him." Then her expression turned. "But you are." Darkness seemed to descend over Jace with her words, "You _are." _With that, she left.


End file.
